Supplanter
by Meg F
Summary: Joyce has an intruder.


Joyce inspected her hair critically in the mirror. [Not good, but it'll do. Have to wash it tonight.]  
  
She pressed the bar on the soap machine, sighing at the state of the sink. It was always impeccably clean at work. She could never keep her own bathroom that clean; not with two girls in the house. She rubbed her hands under the tap, not really paying attention. She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser, used it, and dropped it in the trash. [Hang on, did any soap actually come out? I'm so silly.]  
  
She was surprised when her hands, of their own volition, pressed the bar again - twice - and scrubbed themselves. She tried to stop, but her hands just kept moving.   
  
She was terrified when she found herself looking in the mirror at her own smile, and listening to her own voice say, "Don't fight it, fool. Now, who am I?"  
  
****  
  
"Buffy!" Joyce said cheerfully.   
  
Buffy turned away from the TV. "Yes, Mom?"  
  
[Help me, please!] "Can you help me with the dishes?" [Damn.] Joyce slumped mentally. It was strange. She could feel what happened to her physical body, and she felt as if she possessed a body under her control, but it must've been a creation of her mind. She waved her arms. Nothing happened.  
  
"It's Dawn's turn," Buffy whined, grinning at her sister.   
  
Dawn was on her feet instantly, outraged. "Is not! I dried up last night. You weren't here. You were out sucking face with-"  
  
Buffy gave in hastily. "Oh, all right."  
  
Joyce led the way to the kitchen, trying desperately to trip, to yell, to grab Buffy's arm - anything to let her daughter know that her mother was in trouble. She concentrated hard.   
  
She managed a squeak.  
  
"What was that, Mom?"  
  
"Excuse me!" Joyce laughed. "I ate too much." [Almost. Maybe if I try again.]  
  
"You and me both." Buffy rubbed her stomach in mock pain. "But I am only human - I cannot resist the sweet temptation of your pumpkin pie!"  
  
They did the dishes with companionable small talk. Not the Slayer and her constantly worried mother, just two people, a mother and a daughter, being domestic.   
  
Except the mother was trapped inside her own mind.  
  
Joyce gathered her energy again as they finished up and moved back into the living room. There was a knock at the door.  
  
"Willow and Tara!" Dawn leapt up and opened the door, beaming.   
  
Joyce focused her thoughts, trying to use a meditation exercise she'd seen in one of Buffy's books when she'd been snoop- cleaning.  
  
[I'm] / "I'm"  
[trapped!] / "happy to see you!"  
  
[DAMN.]  
  
||Stop that.||  
  
Pure pain jolted through Joyce. She cried out soundlessly.  
  
||Don't do that again. You're not worthy.||  
  
[Not worthy of what?] Joyce asked, but she sensed that the other presence was, once more, paying her no attention.  
  
Not that it mattered. She was exhausted, and cold. She barely registered herself answering Tara's polite comment about her scarf. She sat down.  
  
Willow punched Buffy playfully on the arm, then pretended to shake her hand in mock pain. "Okay, Buffster. Time to make you more buff."  
  
Dawn's eyes lit up. "You're gonna do it now? Mom, can I stay and watch?"  
  
"No, dear, it's time for homework, then bed," Joyce answered firmly. She felt something rummaging through her brain. "So go on up, lil punkin belly. I'll come up soon and tuck you in."  
  
"Awww, Mo-om!" Dawn groaned, but obediently went upstairs.  
  
Buffy eyed the ingredients Tara was pulling out of her backpack. "So, er, what do you have to do, exactly?"  
  
Willow grinned. "Is your Slayer sense tingling?"  
  
Tara joined in. "Do you sense danger?"  
  
Joyce frowned. "Slayer-"   
  
The others looked at her, waiting for her to finish the sentence. Tara raised her eyebrows thoughtfully.  
  
Joyce's mind flinched again, as another memory was torn away. "Even Slayers have to be careful with sharp objects," she said, pointing at the sticks of incense. Joyce could hear the desperation in her own voice as the presence in her mind tried to make light of the near-slip. "You could put an eye out, you know!"  
  
They laughed. "Are you sure you want to stay around for this, Mom? You've never been comfy with this witchy stuff," Buffy hinted.  
  
Joyce shrieked silently, barely able to muster the energy even for that. [No! I can't leave them!] She felt something smile in her mind.  
  
"I am a little tired. And I'm in the middle of a great book," Joyce agreed.  
  
"Another bodice-ripper?" Buffy asked, snickering. "A dark, handsome man with flashing eyes and great hair behaves in a dastardly fashion towards a pure, brave young beauty, until she discovers his inner pain and basic niceness?"  
  
"Yes." Another chunk of Joyce's sense of self detached. She reeled mentally, trying not to give in to the dizziness. "And yes, you can borrow it when I'm done. Good night, girls."  
  
||You're getting weaker.||  
  
She went up to bed, smiling and sobbing.  
  
****  
  
Joyce stood in a desert. The moon hung low in the sky. Vast obelisks surrounded her, and wind whipped through her hair. [This is one helluva dream.] She walked towards the edge of the circle, but met an invisible barrier. No way out.  
  
||Not a dream, fool.||  
  
She spun around. A dark-haired woman smirked at her, hands on hips. She was shorter than Joyce, and more powerfully-built. Muscular.  
  
The woman aimed a kick at her, slowly and deliberately. Joyce moved out of the way easily. She was astonished when the woman disappeared and a fist connected with the side of her head. She went down hard, choking on the red sand.   
  
||You don't know how to use this place. You don't deserve them.|| The woman dove at her. An image of Buffy and Dawn floated through Joyce's head.   
  
Joyce concentrated, imagining herself on top of the nearest obelisk. The woman fell to the ground as Joyce faded. She found herself on the obelisk, exactly where she'd imagined. She stared grimly down at the other woman, trying to get her breath back. It had worked, but she felt so *tired*. . .   
  
[They are my daughters. They will *always* be *my* daughters.]  
  
****  
  
Smoke. Chimes. Someone intoning softly in Latin near her head.   
  
She tried to move, but her hands and feet were tied, and she was incredibly weary. Her muscles were mush. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was covered with sand.  
  
"What's going on?" [What the hell?]  
  
A figure moved near her head, barely visible in the near-darkness. It touched her on the forehead, both wrists, then the stomach. Pain flared in each location. It felt like she was being ripped open from inside. Joyce screamed, internally and externally.  
  
. . . then relaxed, breathing in short gasps.   
  
"Joyce?" A man's voice, gentle and kind.  
  
Joyce tried to speak. To her shock, it worked. "Ru - Rupert?"  
  
"Mom!" Another figure threw itself on her, clutching her in a hug. "Thank God!"  
  
The curtains were opened a crack. Joyce saw Buffy, Giles, Willow, Tara, and Xander, standing around her bed. "What happened?" she croaked.  
  
Tara started untying her hands. Xander offered her a glass of water.  
  
"You were possessed, Mom," Buffy said guiltily. "I'm so sorry."  
  
Joyce sighed. "I figured that much out, at least, Buffy." She chuckled. "I'm not that stupid."  
  
"Stupid is my job," Xander volunteered cheerfully.   
  
Joyce said reprovingly, "You do much more than that. You know that." She grinned at her daughter, revelling in being able to do so, then teased gently, "Why are you sorry? Did you do it?"  
  
"No, of course not," Giles jumped in. "As far as we could determine, you came into contact with the spirit of a woman who died a few weeks ago."  
  
"Sara Wilcox," Tara added.  
  
Willow asked, "Have you had anything new at the gallery lately?"  
  
"I opened a new case yesterday," Joyce nodded in realization, "donated by a deceased estate."  
  
Giles helped her sit up. "We believe she lost her daughter a short time before she herself passed away."  
  
Joyce put a hand to her heart. "Oh, the poor woman. She wanted to be a mother again. How awful for her." She frowned. "Though I don't approve of her coping methods. How did you know what had happened?"  
  
Tara said shyly, "You looked wrong last night. I knew you weren't - weren't you."  
  
"Thank you, Tara," Joyce said warmly.   
  
Buffy put an arm around Tara's shoulders. "She told us, and we did the research thing. Tara kept an eye on you to make sure you were still - there. We were just in time. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it sooner, Mom."  
  
"You can't stop everything," Joyce told her intently, carefully not mentioning how close it had been. "I'm a big girl, honey. I know you love me. And I know you protect me. You - all of you," her grateful gaze took in everyone in the room, "saved me. But you can't save me from everything, and that's not your fault, Buffy."  
  
Buffy tried to joke, "I'm the Slayer, Mom. Everything's my fault."  
  
"Buffy." Joyce met her gaze, and held it until Buffy nodded reluctantly, squirming. "Don't take so much responsibility on yourself."  
  
Giles cleared his throat, interrupting delicately. "Dear me. Joyce, I must ask you to come to training some time. She *never* believes *me*." Buffy threw a pillow at his head.  
  
Dawn's wavering voice came from behind the door. "Is she okay?"  
  
"Yes, come in, Dawnie." Tara ushered her inside.  
  
Dawn rushed over for a hug. "Oh, Mom! They told me something happened. But they wouldn't tell me what - they didn't even *tell* me till this morning."  
  
"I'm fine, honey." Joyce embraced her weakly. "It was a little strange, but I'm fine."  
  
"Why did that woman want you? Did she hurt you?"  
  
"No, honey. And I know she would've left me alone, eventually," Joyce lied smoothly. "I'm just a little tired." She was silent for a moment, thinking of the loss she'd felt in the other woman's mind. "She wasn't a monster. She was just a mother, missing her child."  



End file.
